Battling Oblivion
by Galiko
Summary: Smut fic as a birthday present for Harumi  playbunny  on tumblr.


**Battling Oblivion**

**[500 Themes: 173]**

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><p>Barnaby can write novels in his mind about how <em>good<em> Kaburagi T. Kotetsu looks.

Really, how does the man not receive more attention? Perhaps it's the slight slouch in his shoulders, the unassuming tip of his head, the _humility_ about the man that stays so firmly in place – but, god, how could anyone ignore him at he end of the day, when he's sprawled on the couch, shirt half undone, hair tousled and a drink held so gracelessly in one hand?

If nothing else, Barnaby is grateful that he has the man all to himself, especially on nights like this.

It's with an easy, elegant movement that he drapes himself into Kotetsu's lap, sparking a surprised blink as his knees neatly settle to either side of the older man's hips. Kotetsu's drink is plucked from his hands, and Barnaby is kissing him – leaning in to catch Kotetsu's lower lip between his teeth and gently tug, sucking upon the soft, full flesh and relishing the groan that echoes from his lover's throat and into his own mouth.

Obvious, really, that Kotetsu doesn't know what to make of him at times. He probably wonders what brings on these moods, but Barnaby sees no reason to explain. With everything that Kotetsu has done for _him_, isn't he allowed to simply dote for a change?

And so he does – fingers deftly unbuttoning the rest of Kotetsu's shirt, splaying his fingers over hard, sculpted muscle. He savors the hiss that escapes Kotetsu's teeth as his nails and fingers alike trace every line, ever curve and bump, flexing in and dragging along as if to memorize (as if he hasn't _already_ memorized, hasn't already worshipped every bit of flesh that he could ever get his hands upon).

Barnaby loves the skip of Kotetsu's breath when his fingers trail down one, well-muscled arm – tickling his fingers over every inch and breadth of that strength, something he himself envies. Kotetsu's build seems so natural, compared to his own that is a constant work in progress, a constant matter of _upkeep_ – and Barnaby is inclined to show his appreciation by catching hold of Kotetsu's hands next, worn and calloused and so obviously _strong_. He sucks the man's index finger past his lips first, lapping and suckling, and he feels Kotetsu shudder beneath him before his other hand lifts, catching hold of Barnaby's chin to hold him in place, obviously _enjoying_ himself as another finger pushes insistently past his lips and Barnaby eagerly laves attention upon that as well, enjoying the needy twist of them against his tongue.

"Minx," Kotetsu lowly accuses, and Barnaby groans, lidding his eyes as his cheeks hollow for another, pointed suck. His chin is released as he tips his head back, releasing the fingers with a slick pop, and Kotetsu drags them over the blond's full lower lip, prompting Barnaby to obediently keep his lips parted, as if expecting them to thrust into his mouth once more – an open mockery of what Barnaby _wishes_ the man would shove past his lips instead.

But there's a time and place for that, and it isn't now – not with his hips grinding down insistently into Kotetsu's lap and Kotetsu dragging him closer, closer. His own hands are between them, prying open the older man's fly, enjoying the shudder and hitch of Kotetsu's breath as Barnaby's long, slim fingers wrap about his cock once he pulls it free. There's an awkward squirm and shuffle in which Kotetsu claws at the blond's jeans in turn – opening them, coaxing them down, with Barnaby reluctantly wriggling free of his lap long enough to kick them off, though they still dangle about one ankle in haphazard abandonment.

Somewhere, somehow, there's lube – dragged from the couch cushion, from behind a pillow? Barnaby doesn't care. He just knows Kotetsu's cock is slick from the bottle of it, messy and dripping as his fingers wrap around the base of him. Kotetsu's hands are on his hips, steadying him as he sinks down, _down_, gasping and letting his head fall back as he pants toward the ceiling, body tensing and _twinging_ around every hard, thick inch of Kotetsu's cock as it pushes deep into his body.

His thighs are shaky, quivering things as their hips connect again, and Barnaby's hands lift, grasping at broad, strong shoulders, digging in sharply as his knees press into the couch and he rocks himself up, panting with every slick, hot slide of their flesh. Kotetsu never fails to fill him _perfectly_ – it makes him groan with every rock and twist and grind of their hips, makes him sigh out a hot, heated breath that fogs his glasses and further blurs his vision to _nothing_ when Kotetsu strikes just right inside of him.

The man seems to _know_, grins, and tightens his grasp on Barnaby's hips, jerking him down, right on that same spot.

Barnaby could have sobbed – he was fairly certain he did, actually, and is left clinging to Kotetsu's shoulders, gasping into his neck, trembling around him as his body moves on its own accord, shaking, quaking knees pushing him up and down as he rides Kotetsu's cock, fucking himself as slowly as he can stand it, as slowly as _Kotetsu_ can stand it, what with the man's insisting hands jerking him down on occasion to press that much deeper, to fuck him that much _harder_.

He comes with a strangled whine into Kotetsu's shoulder, spilling himself messily between them – and Kotetsu doesn't stop. Kotetsu simply yanks him down harder, holds him in place at his own hips jerk up inside of him again and again, using his shaking, tense form before he finally comes as well, and Barnaby just _mewls_ as he feels the other man coming inside of him, awash with the sensation of being so thoroughly claimed that he wriggles that much closer, buries his face into Kotetsu's throat and just _clings_ to him for long moments afterwards.

Kotetsu's hands are soothing, then, dragging through his hair and lifting his head to kiss him, nuzzling at his cheeks and pressing their lips together as gentle and as warm as anything. Impossible not to melt, then, and so Barnaby doesn't resist as he sags into the other man's broad, warm chest, knowing very well that he must be purring like some _cat_.

Is there any thing more perfect than this man?

Doubtful.


End file.
